


Five times Peter made Tony smile

by PanWuthAPlann



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: But he ignores it, Dancing Lessons, Fluffy, Irondad, Kittens, Laughing Gas, More tags added, Peter finds stray kittens, Peter is delirious, Peter is high as a kite, Peter wants to impress MJ, Steve and Nat are better parents than Tony, Study help, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony takes them home, Wisdom Teeth, five+one, happy endings, soft fluff, spiderson, tony is getting old
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-05-28 10:19:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19392100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanWuthAPlann/pseuds/PanWuthAPlann
Summary: And one time Tony made Peter smile———A five+one thing I’m using partially as a vent thing. Soft feelings and tooth rotting sweet.





	1. Hips Don’t Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Tony Stark isn’t old, he swears it.

Tony was many, _many_ things. Some he loved to flaunt, others... not so much. His least favorite of all was old. Tony Stark was _not_ old. He refused to acknowledge his inclining age and declining body. He _refused_. Even as the graying on his temples pushed back to thread through all the rest of his hair, even as he started to actually need glasses in order to see something directly in front of his face, and the wrinkles slowly began to crease his face.

He insisted he was in peak condition. He stopped drinking- mostly- and he never smoked anything more hardcore than weed, but that was back when he was in his early twenties. Forty-six was the twenty-one.

That's what he liked to tell himself.

But his hips decided to counter that opinion, _harshly_.

Granted, he knew he shouldn't have fallen asleep in on the couch, especially after spending almost fifty hours in his lab, tinkering with the suit for extra shock absorption and joint support (he wasn't old, _damnit_ , he just wanted to be able to pack a better punch). Friday insisted he get some rest over and over, but he ignored her, instead cranking his music louder as DUM-E held his tools. He regretted it. Immensely.

As he rolled off the couch, groaning deep in his throat, his hand pressed against his hip. There was bone-deep ache there, the muscles stiff and the joint swollen. He whimpered, clambering to his feet, and bit back a curse as the ache spread across his lower back into the other hip. It hurt like a _bitch_ , all the muscles tight and uncomfortable.

"Hey, Fri," he croaked, tongue tracing his admittedly bad tasting teeth. "Report."

"It is Saturday, April twenty-seventh. It's currently raining. The temperature is at forty-two degrees Fahrenheit, with a feel of forty. The high will be fifty degrees, while the low is thirty-nine. Humidity is at eighty-two percent, and it should continue to rain through the day into early tomorrow morning." Tony scrubbed his face with a hand, sighing heavily.

"High pressure. Great. Thanks Fri. You think you could get a pot started for me while I take a quick shower, freshen up a little?" The AI opened the elevator across the room.

"Of course sir. Do be quick, however. Young Parker is due to the tower in just over and hour." Tony glanced at his wristwatch, cursing at the time. It was half past eleven, well past the appropriate wake-up time for the resident genius.

Hobbling to elevator, he made it to the penthouse bathroom as quick as he could, teeth gritting together. When he went to step into the spray, he didn't think about how the temperature he usually bathed at would affect his body- all he wanted was to shower and be done with it. But as he stepped into the lukewarm water, his body reacted violently, his hips and lower back muscles spasming in retribution. Cursing loudly, he shut off the cold water and cranked the hot water.

The temp rose quickly, soon scalding his skin, but he paid no mind as his body stared to relax. He felt _so much_ better when he finally stepped out. Toweling as quickly as his body would allow (trying and failing to ignore the pinch of pain when he tried to bend at the waist), he threw on a pair of comfortable, well worn jeans and a black tee-shirt with a faded Mötley Crüe logo on the front.

He made his way back downstairs, and only just finally had a mug of strong black coffee in his hands when Peter blew in, flinging wet droplets and cold air as he shimmied out of his drenched coat.

"Hi, Mister Stark!" The teens eyes twinkled, his grin bright. An angry red flush painted his cheeks and nose, and he shivered heavily every couple of seconds (Tony learned the hard way during the winter that the boy couldn't thermoregulate like a normal person).

"Friday, run the boy a hot shower upstairs and put on some hot water while I get him some clothes please."

"Oh, no Mister Stark, there's no need to-"

"Finished," Friday interrupted. "The shower is ready for you Mister Parker." Peter pressed his lips together, acquiescing easily and moving toward the elevator. Tony hobbled after him, much to the teens bemusement. The sharp look in the Stark mans eyes had Peter hold his tongue.

Tony lead him to the main bathroom, shoving a plain black tee and a pair of oil-stained sweatpants into the boy’s hands. “Stick your stuff in the wash once you’re out, and it should be ready to go by the time you leave.” Peter took the bundle of clothes and smiled brightly.

“Thanks, Mister Stark.” Tony waved him off, pushing the teen into the bathroom and yanking the door shut. He went down to the lab, stopping by the kitchen to pour a cup of hot coco for the kid and snagging his mug of coffee along the way.

He was reclined in his chair, eyes shut and coffee under his nose, when Peter entered the lab. His backpack was hoisted on his shoulder, still slightly damp from the outdoors. It was silent, save for the soft whirring of Butterfingers and DUM-E pushing a ball back and forth and the heavy sound of the rain pounding against the windows. Tony’s eyes snapped open and he twisted to face Peter.

“Alright kid,” he spoke. “What’s in the agenda today? Busted cartridges? Updates to the software? Web fluid design ideas? Lay it on me, I don’t have all day.” Peter dropped his bag, and he winced at the heavy thud when it hit the ground.

“Actually, I need help studying for calculus and chemistry- finals week is two weeks out and I want to be as ready as possible.” Tony quirked a brow, a small scoff leaving his lips. He placed his coffee mug on his desk and pushed out of his chair, eyes scrunching in pain as his hips protested angrily. A series of small pops emanated from his hips and knees.

“By studying your two best subjects?” He made his way to the boy, stance stiff. “I think not. If there’s any subject you need help in, it’s that English class, squirt.” Peter grimaced when the older man ruffled his hair.

“But English isn’t _fun_ ,” he whines back, dragging the words out for added effect. Tony laughed, his chest vibrating. Peter made him think of a well-behaved version of himself as a young kid. Maybe not as handsome, but still. It was the Italian in him.

“Mister Stark, I’m Italian too.” Tony froze, eyebrows puckering. The words registered, and another sharp laugh barked from his chest.

“Did I say that aloud? Whoops. Well, if that’s the case, I would know better than any that English is _not_ your strong suit and therefore you need help in that subject _far more_ than in calculus or chemistry. Sorry, Underoos. If you want my help studying, you’re gonna’ have to choose something you actually need help with.” Peter sighed exaggeratively, voice grumbling with the force he exuded.

“ _Fiiiiinne_ ,” he conceded. “But I want more hot coco than this.” Tony ruffled the boy’s hair, a grin stretching his face as he patted it down the second time since he entered the building. Tony knew it was far from the last time as well.

“Deal. Now, pull out that textbook. What’re you studying? Ancient theater?”

“Yeah. Oedipus and stuff like that.”

Tony grimaced as his hips shifted again, taking a seat next to Peter, but he didn’t mind. His favorite protégé was there- “Only protégé-” and the sound of the rain was soothing. He would just make sure to take an early bedtime and a muscle relaxer.


	2. Peaches and Cream

“Mister Stark! Come here, quick!” Tony jolted from where he was standing on the street, his faceplate slamming down.

“Kid, are you in trouble? Are you hurt?” Peter made a high squeak, and Tony took off. “Peter answer me or I’m calling an ambulance. Don’t make me get Steve.”

“I’m okay, just hurry up.” Tony flew in the direction of the kids trackers, heart pounding in his chest. The teen claimed not to be in trouble, but if he wasn’t, why would he call so urgently? Setting down, the suit opened up and Tony slipped out, hurrying to the hunched figure at the back of the alleyway.

“Pete?” Peter turned, and Tony went lax with relief at the giant smile painted on his face. “What did you want me for? It had better be important.” Peter twisted around, and Tony froze when his eyes settled at the bundle in his hands, wrapped up in his mask.

“Mister Stark, look! Aren’t they adorable?” Two small kittens poked their heads out, eyes wide. The first one was a small orange kitten with pale stripes, a single white ear on top of its head. The second one was smaller, and was a soft buttery white color. The blood drained from the billionaires face.

“Wh- when did... uh, what?” Peter beamed, holding them closer to his chest.

“I named them Peaches and Cream.” The smug look on his face and the joy in his eyes disarmed the man, immediately weakening his argument. Tony Stark had a feeling that two new animals would soon be living in his tower.

“No.” Peter’s face scrunched up, and he pouted.

“Why not? They were abandoned, they’ll starve if we leave them out here alone!” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily.

“Kid, would your Aunt Hottie let you take them home?” Peter slouched down, cradling the kittens closer to his chest. His eyes darkened, and he pushed his lips out angrily.

“No.” Tony clenched his jaw at the hard edge in the boy’s voice.

“Then why would I?” Peter turned away slightly, and Tony felt his heart crack. _Just let him keep them, you monster_! “Pete...”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Tony winced when his voice cracked. “I’ll just... leave them here all alone then.” Sadly, Peter slowly opened his mask and gently rolled the kittens off. They tumbled out of his lap, meowing softly. “Bye bye, little ladies. I’ll see you around, hopefully.” He got to his feet, and without looking at Tony, slipped his mask on and began to walk down the alley, shoulders slumped. Tony heard the soft sigh pass his lips as he walked past him.

Tony turned and watched as the teen boy dragged his feet, small, woeful puffs of air slipping from his lips every few seconds. Turning back towards the kittens, he couldn’t stop the pang as they watched Peter. He was certain he could see the confusion and hurt in their eyes.

“Don’t do it, Tony, don’t do it,” he murmured to himself. The two kittens turned to him, ears peeking up. Their big eyes seemed to get bigger, begging him to concede to their will. Sighing heavily, he danced in a small circle, stomping his feet, trying to shake off the guilt.

It didn’t work.

Scooping the kittens, he set after Peter, who had yet to fully leave the alley. “Wait, Pete. Hold on.” The boy turned, yanking his mask off. His face was carefully schooled into one of grief, but Tony could see the way his eyes twinkled.

“Yeah?” Tony sighed, rubbing the lighter one behind her ear.

“Peaches and Cream, you say? Is it because of their coloring?” Peter beamed, taking the darker one from Tony.

“No, not really. I found Peaches here literally in an empty can of peaches. Cream came toddling out of the dark after I started playing with her sister. The names fit though, don’t they?” Tony sighed, nodding.

“Yeah. We’re gonna have to get collars for them. Cat box, toys and food. The only rule?” Peter straightened, eyes wide. “You have to take half an hour to play with them any time you’re at the tower, minimum. Got it?” Peter laughed exuberantly, dancing around. The kitten in his arms sank her claws into the fabric of his suit.

“Alright! Thanks Mister Stark, thank you so much!” He tugged on his mask and took off, whooping loudly as he swung away. Tony looked down at the pale kitten in his hands.

“Cream, huh? Well, at least you and your sister are two small kittens, and not two small dogs. How hard could it be? All cats do are laze around.”

———

The answer was _very_ hard. Peaches and Cream, in fact, did _not_ like to sleep all day. It was quite the contrary. They followed him around all day long, latching onto his ankles with their tiny claws and sinking their little needle sharp teeth into his skin. They romped around on tables and shelves, knocking things to the ground without an ounce of remorse. They got into small spaces and refused to come out, chewed on wires, and pissed on anything and everything that _wasn’t_ their litter box.

Tony could still feel the warm damp that spread across his toes the week prior.

They always seemed to be able to find him, even when he was in his room or the bathroom. They always ended up in the same area as him. Tony had an inkling that Friday had something to do with it, but he never said anything. He couldn’t lie, whenever he went to bed, the kittens made nice company. They settled down on his chest, purring softly as they nestled together. He couldn’t recall having any nightmares since they claimed his bed as their own.

Peter stayed ever vigilant on taking care of them, spending his money on cute little noisemakers and feather balls and squeaky mice for them to play with. He bought a fancy cat stand and placed in the guest room (in reality, it was more his room than a spare) but they didn’t use it often, except to scratch at. Tony was glad for that.

The teen bought them high quality food, both soft and hard, and vitamin snacks, and treats shaped like little fish.

Whenever he showed up at the tower, he would first check in with Tony, giving the man any repairs or ideas he had for his suit, and then disappeared to play with the kittens. On weekends, whenever he crashed at the tower, the kittens stuck to him like fleas on a sewer rat.

It was early in the morning, or late depending how you look at it, and Tony had just finished up fixing a repulser on the suit. He was dressed in sweats and an old Megadeth shirt, nursing a cup of coffee, when he shuffled through the main living area. The sun was peeking over the horizon, painting the city in soft golden yellows and reflecting off the Stark tower.

Peter’s soft breathing is what drew his attention. The boy was curled up in the corner of one of the couches, sleeping peacefully. He was dressed in a pair of captain America boxers (Tony exhaled through his nose in amusement) and an Iron Man tee shirt. His hair was a mess, flopped over his face in wild curls. In his embrace were the kittens.

Approaching them softly, Tony watched as the two creatures shifted with each breath of air Peter took. He braved a hand against the back of the couch and took a sip of his coffee.

“Friday,” he whispered. “Take a picture and save it to the file please.”

“Sure thing, boss.” The AI’s voice was soft, attempting not to awake the sleeping trio. Gently, Tony reached down and brushed some hair from Peter’s forehead. The teen snuffled and shifted, then settled back into his dreams. Peaches remained unaffected in the boy’s arms, but Cream sat up, blinking owlishly.

Tony gently picked up the kitten and cuddled her close. Cream let out a giant yawn, and settled into Tony’s chest. The small smile on Tony’s face was soft, full of joy and affection.

He was glad Peter found those kittens.

(And don’t tell anybody, but Cream was his favorite. She was better mannered than her sister, which Tony greatly appreciated. And if he payed her good behavior with small pinches of catnip on occasion? Well, nobody but him and Cream had to know.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We just got a new kitten named Gemma, and I would willingly die for her. We have a menagerie of animals at my house, and not a single one likes me. I just got back from my moms house, and she hasn’t stopped following me around. She slept on my chest, purring, while I wrote this. 
> 
> I’m really happy, bc not only do one of the animals now like me, buts she’s an adorable kitten (my favorite animal, right after snakes, are cats)


	3. Smart-Mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is shorter than the others, so I hope it doesn’t disappoint.

“Mister Stark?”

“Yeah kid?”

“Do you know who is the handsomest man?” Tony bit back a chuckle at the boy’s voice.

Slow and lethargic, Peter was hopped up on a massive amount a laughing gas- he had just gotten his wisdom teeth removed, and Tony was driving him home. Natasha and Bucky snickered in the back.

“Who is it, buddy?” A slow smiled stretched across Peter’s face, forcing his heavily lidded eyes shut.

“Sam. Sam is the handsomest man, except maybe Doctor Mike.” Tony pressed his lips together, forcing his eyes to stick to the road.

“Who’s Doctor Mike?” Peter gasped and sat up in his seat, eyes wide.

“You don’ know Doctor Mike? He’s a good guy, a real good guy. His thighs are prolly the size o’ my chest. He works on the internet, on YouTube. He’s the handsomest man.”

“I thought you said Sam was the handsomest man,” Natasha spoke up. Peter twisted to look at her, eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, he can be the handsomest man too, Nat. Is not a competition.” She leaned back, holding up her hands in defeat. Peter smacked his lips and twisted back around, leaning his head against the window. It was silent, save for Peter’s mouth-smacking every couple of seconds.

Peter gagged silently, and Tony snapped his gaze on him, eyes wide. Coughing, Peter stuck out his tongue, and a chunk of gauze fell out of his mouth. Tony sighed as the blood and spit soaked into his white shirt.

“Uh-oh, Mister Stark. My tongue fell out.” Natasha laughed once, loud and abrupt, before slamming a hand over her mouth. Bucky chuckled softly, holding a fisted hand against his chin.

“That’s a problem, isn’t it?” Peter lazily looked up at Tony, face blank.

“Not really. I can still taste.” Picking up the chunk gently, Peter shoved it back in his mouth and leaned back against the window. Tony grimaced.

The car descended back into silence, and Peter began snoring softly. Tony sighed, holding back a smile that threatened to break across his face. He turned the corner, and a semi-truck in front of them blared its horn. Peter gasped and jolted awake, eyes shifting.

“Mister Stark!”

“Yes Peter, I’m right here. It’s okay.” Peter looked at him, eyes wide. Leaning back in his seat. Peter refuses to take his eyes off the man. Tony shifted uncomfortable.

“Mister Stark?” Peter’s voice was soft, subdued. He sounded hesitant, and almost even sad.

“What’s up, Underoos?”

“Will you be my dad?” All the oxygen left the car. Natasha and Bucky both stared between the teen and the genius, eyes wide. Peter was very serious looking, his gaze unwavering. Tony swallowed anxiously. “I don’ave a dad. Bof’ o’ mine died. You’re my favorite person, you know, an’ you already call me Kid all the time. Please?”

Tony sighed, the corners of his eyes growing tight. He reached over and ruffled Peter’s hair, glancing at Nat and Bucky in the rear view mirror.

“We’ll talk about it after you get some sleep, alright?”

“Alright.”

Softly turning the radio on, Tony relaxed his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. For Peter to ask him a question like that... he must really trust Tony. He realized the boy was high as a kite, but that doesn’t mean those thoughts were out of the blue- he had to have wondered them before.

Huh. _Dad_. Tony Stark being a surrogate father for a mostly grown child. It didn’t seem that bad, he guessed, but he was afraid. Everything good in his life ended up spoiled, whether it was from them dying or simply leaving, nothing he had come easy.

“Mister Stark,” Peter murmured. Tony looked over at him. Peter was nodding off, head resting against the window and eyes almost fully shut.

“Yeah?”

“My favorite hero is Spider-Man.” Tony chuckled, along with Natasha and Bucky. Tony appreciated their silence through the whole thing.

“It makes sense, I guess. I mean, you _are_ Spider-Man after a-”

“I’m _what_?” Peter voice lifted an octave, shrill and breathy. Tony laughed loudly, tears stinging his eyes. Natasha joined him, gripping her ribs, and Bucky grinned widely.

Peter just gaped, disbelieving that he could possibly be Spider-Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is based on two things really. First, I finally managed to get in to see a dentist since like, 2015, and he said that cavities aside (which I do have quite a few of) he wanted to see about getting my wisdom teeth removed before hey could cut gum, just to avoid that risk and infection hazard. The second is I saw a prompt on Pinterest, where Peter was hopped up on silly gas and rambling, and the last scene there happened.


	4. Foxtrot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a bit long to get out. I’ve been dealing with some stuff, and haven’t had the time or inspiration to do it lately.

"Mister Stark?" Tony looked up from his computer, eyebrow cocked.

"What's up, squirt?" Peter's eyebrows drew in, and he took a deep, shaky breath.

"I need some advice." Tony blinked in surprise. Pushing back from the desk, he motioned for the teen to follow him. They went to the living room, where Tony poured himself a glass of scotch and patted the couch next to him. Peter plopped down, pulling his legs close.

"What's the matter, Pete. Nothin' bad I hope?"

"No, no," Peter waved him off, "nothing like that. It's just... it's homecoming, like in a month, and I'm taking MJ."

"So what's the problem? She's a good kid, and you guys like each other right?" Peter shrugged, picking at a loose thread on his sock.

"Well, yeah, but... I don't really know what to do. Last years dance was sort of a disaster."

Tony pressed his lips together, visions of Peter bloody and beaten flashing through his mind. He remembered how distraught the boy was- not because he was so badly injured in the fight, but because he felt bad for standing up his date to the dance.

"Well, what were you planning on doing? We can go from there." Peter sat back, eyes glazed over.

"I can drive now. I was hoping I could maybe borrow a car-"

"We're gonna' have to talk about that one."

"-and go pick her up. Then, we were going to go for dinner, then the dance. That's sort of the rough idea we came up with when I finally asked her."

"What else?" Peter looked up at him, eyes wide.

"I dunno'." Tony sighed, leaning back in the couch.

"J, will you send up itsy-bitsy and the shield man?" Peter snickered softly at the nicknames.

"They'll be here in ten minutes sir." Tony shoved off the couch, groaning out a huff of air. Placing the glass on the table, he grabbed Peter's wrist and heaved him to his feet.

"First things first. You gotta' know how to dance. Can you dance?" Peter flushed red, averting his eyes. "I'll take that as a no. Well, when you're dancing with a lady, you got to keep in mind what kind of music is playing. Is it slow and soft? Fast and bass-boosted? How are the people around you reacting to the music? And the lights. What are the lights doing?" Tony took a step back and arched his arms as if holding a dance partner.

"Mister Stark?"

"Doesn't matter. When you're dancing with a girl, there's a few things you gotta do to make sure she knows you're into her." Peter's blush deepened. "First, you make sure you hold her tight. Not tight enough to bruise, but tight enough that she stays close and there's no opportunity for her to be swept away by another dude. Second, maintain eye contact. Don't be creepy about it, and unless you're going in for a smooch, keep your face at least three or four inches back.

"Now, that's all for a slow dance. When the tempo picked up-" he dropped his hands so that it looked like one was wrapped around his imaginary dance partners waist and the other was placed on their hip- "that's when you really pull em' in."

Peter pressed a hand over his mouth as Tony began to waltz around the room, spinning in circles and doing imaginary dips and twirl, all while shimmying his hips like an old soccer dad.

The sight was one to behold, and Peter hoped to God that JARVIS was recoding the whole thing.

"Oh, dear Jesus. What in God's name are you doing?" Peter turned to face Natasha, who had her hands placed firmly on her hips. Steve was leaned on the doorframe behind her, arms folded over his chest. Tony ignored them in favor of his dance.

"Teaching Petey-pie to dance, obviously." Natasha sighed and turned to face Peter.

"What else has he taught you, Peter?" Peter rubbed the back of his neck.

"Nothing important really." Tony gasped exaggeratively, dropping his arms. Steve laughed. Natasha took a deep breath.

"Okay. You and I will practice dancing after dinner. Until then, Steve is your etiquette teacher."

"You already know?" Natasha lifted a perfectly manicured brow, her kohl-limes eyes glittering.

"Peter, of course I knew. Who do you think I am?" She stalked away, and Peter gaped after her. Tony was still grumbling to himself, pouring a new glass of scotch. Steve radiated amusement.

"C'mon kid. Let's go somewhere, outside of the tower."

"Can we go to Starbucks?" Steve laughed at the hopeful look in the teens eye.

"Yeah, fine."

The drive was quick and easy. Steve and Peter decided to ditch the first Starbucks in favor of one that was less crowded. Claiming a seat in the far corner, Steve gently sipped his hot coffee while Peter gnawed on his straw. The older man still laughed at how quickly and smoothly Peter delivered his order.

" _I want a Venti caramel frappe with extra extra caramel, whipped cream, and java chips please_." The woman smiled kindly as she scribbled down his order on the side of the cup.

He had also ordered three cake pops and an iced lemon loaf. Steve could feel the ache in his teeth at the surplus amount of sugar. The kid would be impossible to put to sleep later.

"So," Steve started. "You're takin' out a dame for dinner and dancing." Peter nodded, wide brown eyes locked on the soldier. "Well, I want to say from the start that you should disregard every last word Tony said to you in the time it took Nat and I to get upstairs. Delete it- you will never need it, ever." Peter giggles at the vehemence in Steve's voice.

"So what should I do?" The blond man smiled, taking a sip from his coffee.

"Make sure you know what she wants to do. If you just drag her around like some kind of toy, or you ignore her wishes and needs in favor of your own, it's doubtful you'll manage to get a second date. Communication is key. Hold doors and pull out chairs. Offer your arm, but if she rejects it, step off. The last thing you want is to be overbearing or pushy."

Peter took a long pull from his drink, eyes wandering. "So, basically, I should be courteous and attentive."

"Basically. You an' MJ are already friends, so you should have an idea of how to treat one another. Don't act as if she's a dame you've only met once or twice in your life. Treat her like you normally would, with a little bit of flair, and you should do just fine." Peter hummed, nibbling the corner of his lemon loaf. Steve exhaled with amusement when he pulled a face.

"This is gross."

"That's why you don't order stuff you don't like."

"I didn't know I wouldn't like it."

"Do you even like lemon flavored stuff?"

"Not really." Steve laughed aloud, and Peter's cheeks burned. "You try it then, and you can decide if I'm exaggerating or not."

Without hesitation, the blond gently pulled off a corner and popped it in his mouth. Immediately, his eyes widened.

"See? It's gross!"

" _You_ are a drama queen. _That_ thing is delicious." Peter rolled his eyes and pushed it towards the older male, shoving a cake pop in his mouth.

Steve's phone vibrated on the table, and he tilted it so the screen faced him.

"C'mon, Peter. Looks like Nat is ready for those dance lessons."

———

It was safe to say that Peter was slightly terrified. When he and Steve got back to the compound, Natasha awaited their presence dressed in something he never imaging he could see her in.

Spandex shorts, a tight tank top, and a cut-off sweatshirt over the top. Her hair was pulled back in a perfect ballerina bun, not a single strand out of place. Her feet were bare.

“Go put on something loose and comfortable,” she waved him off. “Something you would work out in.”

“How hard could dancing possibly be?” Her sharp eyes had him scampering away, keeping any other remarks to himself.

When he finished changing into some sweats and a loose tee shirt, Friday led him down to the gymnasium reserved for sparring. Now he was well and truly frightened.

Squeezing through the doors, he was met with the sight of Nat stretching as if preparing for one of her spars. Soft jazz music played in the background, echoing through the large room.

Clint, Sam and Tony say to the side, conversing softly. Steve stood on the other side, fiddling with a cell phone that Peter knew for fact didn’t belong to him.

“Okay, spiderling, we will begin with basic foxtrot. It’s a simple square with a four four beat. Come closer, I’m not going to bite you.” Nervously, he approached the woman.

As soon as he was in arms reach, she grabbed him and pulled him in, positioning his left hand on her waist and lacing his fingers with hers on the right. She settled her left hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly.

“Now, first, you’re going to step forward with your left foot- see how I mimic backwards with my right? Good. Now, you’re going to take your right foot and move forward, but instead of stepping down, you’re going to swing it out to the left. Now follow with your right so you’re back in first position. Good. Now, we’re going to do the opposite- step back with your right, left and swing out, Original position. Notice we made a box.”

Peter’s eyes were locked on his feet, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. His tongue was poked out as he tried not to step on her feet. Though, she showed no sign of discomfort when he did, instead choosing to gently pull her foot from under his.

She spun him around the room slowly, narrating their movements the whole time. Once they managed to match the speed of the music, DJ Steve decided to up the ante a little bit.

It took Peter two weeks to do the foxtrot effortlessly, training for two hours with Nat every day, and even longer alone in his room. It was safe to say dancing was harder than he thought. But the countless hours of Peter singing softly while spinning around made Tony feel sappy.

He despised it.

’Despised.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s funny about this is that I’ve known the foxtrot for years- since I was nine or ten in act, but I never knew the follow half, only the lead. My dad taught it to me recently, so I decided to write this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one bc whenever it rains heavy my hips and knees act up. I’ve been in bed all day writing this bc it hurts so bad to move. The messed up part? I’m 16 not 47.


End file.
